All ye that pass by,
To Jesus draw nigh:
To you is it nothing that Jesus should die?
Your ransom and peace,
Your surety He is:
Come, see if there ever was sorrow like His.

For what you have done
His blood must atone:
The Father hath punished for you His dear Son.
The Lord, in the day
Of His anger, did lay
Your sins on the Lamb, and He bore them away.

He answered for all:
O come at His call,
And low at His cross with astonishment fall!
But lift up your eyes
At Jesus’ cries:
Impassive, He suffers; immortal, He dies.

He dies to atone
For sins not His own;
Your debt He hath paid, and your work He hath done.
Ye all may receive
The peace He did leave,
Who made intercession, “My Father, forgive!”

For you and for me
He prayed on the tree:
The prayer is accepted, the sinner is free.
That sinner am I,
Who on Jesus rely,
And come for the pardon God cannot deny.

My pardon I claim;
For a sinner I am,
A sinner believing in Jesus’ Name.
He purchased the grace
Which now I embrace:
O Father, Thou know’st He hath died in my place.

His death is my plea;
My Advocate see,
And hear the blood speak that hath answered for me.
My ransom He was
When He bled on the cross;
And losing His life He hath carried my cause.

My Savior! I behold Thy life
Of not one smile and many tears;
I mark the spiritual strife,
Thy human woes, Thy human fears,
And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?”

I watch Thine agonizing hour,
I see Thee by Thine own betrayed,
Alone in Pilate’s craven power,
And scourged and scornfully arrayed,
And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?”

I see Thee fainting on Thy way,
Reviled and mocked of all the throng,
I hear the bitter words they say,
The abject’s sneer, the drunkard’s song,
And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?”

That sin in every taunt I hear,
And see in every look of scorn;
It is the Cross which Thou dost bear,
The sharpness of Thy crown of thorn:
Dear Lord, “Was ever grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?”

My Savior, I behold Thy death,
I hear Thy cries, Thy last words seven,
I see the scowling gaze beneath,
Above, the darkened face of Heaven,
And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?”

My Savior, I behold Thy grave
In that still garden’s awful gloom,
I see Thee lying there to save
My soul from an eternal tomb,
And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine,
Or debt of sin so vast as mine?”

And yet with all I hear and see
Of Death, or Passion of Thy life,
Sweet hopes are ministered to me
And voices fall with comfort rife,
That say, “Because He lived and died,
From sin thou canst be purified!”